


Running Out of Time

by ElphabaInTheTARDIS



Category: Edgar Allan Poe's Murder Mystery Dinner Party (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, H.G. has a lot of thoughts, I know major character death but you all should already know it's coming, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-02 09:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8660950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElphabaInTheTARDIS/pseuds/ElphabaInTheTARDIS
Summary: "H.G. Wells prided himself on being able to think his way through anything. He was, after all, an inventor and an author. Or was it author and inventor? They were really the same thing anyways." Some introspective thoughts from The Good Professor, some about Lenore, mostly about how he wishes there was more time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in years (think, 2010), but this story would not leave me alone until I sat down and just wrote it, so here we are. Title is 100% a Hamilton reference. I got the line in my head and it just stuck.

_He had never expected the night to turn out like this._

Indeed, the night had taken quite the turn. He had come on a whim, hoping that someone would take interest in his newest invention. He had bumbled his way into the party, realizing as he said the words that he sounded like a babbling idiot, but as soon as his mouth caught up with his brain, his brain was off on another tangent. Worlds swam through his mind, constantly inventing, constantly changing. Tonight there were so many new and unforeseen things to experience. Perhaps there would be things here to inspire him. New inventions, new stories. A murder mystery. His thoughts kicked into overdrive as he tried to make sense of everything happening around him.

H.G. Wells prided himself on being able to think his way through anything. He was, after all, an inventor and an author. Or was it author and inventor? They were really the same thing anyways. But when one Eddie Dantes walked in the door with Miss Annabel Lee, H.G. was surprised. Surprised? There had to be a better word…something to describe what he was feeling upon seeing the man who had once mocked his invention. Something between surprised and angry. Flustered? No no no, that wasn’t right either. And then before he could contemplate it, Eddie lay dead. Right in the soup, as the ghost had declared. Ghost? He supposed she must be, what with her ability to make things appear out of thin air. She seemed…different somehow. Almost supernatural. She was different than any research he had completed on ghosts to this point, which only told him that he needed to conduct more. To say he was fascinated would be an understatement.

But of course, his brain was again moving too fast again, and he found himself putting his face in the soup as well and being chastised for his actions. How silly of him to do such a thing. Thus was the burden of having so many thoughts racing through his head at all times. No time to explain the process, just time enough to move on to the next thing. Time was a fascinating thing. Perhaps if there was some way for him to have more of it, he wouldn’t feel as if his was always running out.

_Why do you write like you’re running out of time?_

Lenore had thrown him a notebook and told him to take notes. Pages filled at a frantic pace as he pulled all of the threads of the story that had begun to unravel before them. Charlotte Bronte’s family. Mary Shelley’s monster. Poe’s obvious distaste for the man. The entire thing spiraled deeper and deeper and soon he realized that this was going too fast even for his brain to comprehend.

And then Mary Shelley was dead. By his device, his contraption as Hemingway had called it. Even though he was not the one to move it, or wire it to kill, he still felt responsible somehow. His work had been turned into something deadly, something dastardly. There was always a price for inventing, but he had always seen that as a more metaphorical price. Time spent away from others, for example. Time lost to the hours of the equations and formulas that caused him to create new and innovative ideas and things. But now the price for his creation had been paid with blood. Well, maybe not blood as Ms. Shelley was not actually hemorrhaging, but a price nonetheless. A price that he was now paying as well, but with guilt and remorse. Even as he tried to explain that he had not put the device there, he could hear the words sounding fake and impossible even to his own ears. Why would anyone believe him? Why should they believe anyone in this nightmare they were now trapped inside. Time, it seems, was not on their side. It never was.

And there it was. His never-ending obsession with time. Maybe one day he would find the solution to overcome the constant forward progression. There was so much more to do, see, experience. Being limited to only the time he had seemed, well, daunting.

_Perhaps we should split up_

He didn’t plan on getting away from the rest of the group to be as easy as it had been. He needed to focus and channel his thoughts into something. He knew how to solve the problem; he just needed to create the means to solve it. In a dusty attic surrounded by old gadgets and parts, he began coupling items together to make rudimentary machines that would serve a purpose and function. There had been too much death tonight, too many reminders that time is a fleeting thing. Maybe now he could give the remaining guests an extension on theirs.

What he did not plan on, however, was having company whilst he worked on his inventions.

He certainly didn’t expect to be explaining his plan to anyone else. Or to have his reasons for knowing “Dead Eddie” as Lenore called him known to anyone else besides him. He had simply wanted to explain to her what his ingenious idea was and then before he could stop himself he was telling her that Eddie had mocked his idea for a model time machine and was telling her that he really did believe in time travel. He wasn’t sure what had caused it…upon further introspection he concluded that he was either too surprised that she had asked, or that he was too distracted by the events of the evening for his brain to remember that time was still running out even as he bumbled his way through explaining his motion capturing device to the lovely Lenore. Lovely Lenore. That was something he certainly did not have the time to contemplate in this moment, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

And even after his botched attempt at an explanation, she believed him. He had been ready to continue on the defensive, explaining that while it had been a setback to his work, he had succeeded and now was able to explore time travel freely. Within his fictions, that is. The art of moving it into reality was something that he had yet to master, and believing in it hadn’t seemed to be enough to make it real. Yet. Perhaps a problem to work on later once this night was over. Maybe Lenore could come with him, even if it was just to ask questions about what he was doing. He found that talking to her instead about what he was doing instead of talking to the empty room and its contents about his plans was soothing. Even if she had initially mocked him. No matter. He had been mocked before and would be mocked again. After all, people don’t necessarily believe that you’re right until you have the proof. As someone attempting to research time travel, he had learned to accept that long ago.

_So what does H.G. stand for?  
Oh I couldn’t tell you. It’s terribly embarrassing._

It’s not that he was embarrassed of his name. After all, Herbert George was a perfectly respectable name…for someone very ordinary. But to be a writer of science fiction and to talk of such topics such as time travel and creatures from other worlds, one had to have a name that befit the situation. After all, H.G. Wells sounds much more like a world-renowned science fiction author. Herbert George Wells sounds like someone who writes romantic poetry for a living. How embarrassing.

H.G. had never been drawn to someone like Lenore. He had, of course, read about ghosts. But this was new. Different. He felt like he should be taking notes for further study yet at the same time he wanted to ignore his notes and completely take in the ghostly woman in front of him. He felt focused in her presence, as if time seemed to slow down around her. Perhaps that was because she was a being out of time itself, forever to be enshrined in the image of her death. In a rare moment he felt as if his brain finally allowed the rest of him to catch up. It seemed that Lenore had the effect of slowing down time around him as well, albeit briefly. He found himself wanting to know more about her, his curiosity and ever-inquisitive mind bursting through and asking her how she had passed on, not caring that the question may be intrusive.

Well, maybe he cared a little bit.

_That week. Love of my life that week._

Was it possible to feel a kinship with someone you had never met? Who would never meet you? While death was not as constant as he had once believed, H.G. felt a connection with Lenore’s dead fiancé. Somehow through time and death, he understood a fraction of the sadness that he must have felt upon his beloved’s death. Which is why he finds himself telling Lenore that if it had been him he would have been extremely sad, too. The sentence has left his mouth before he comprehends that the thought had left his brain. And then as he looks at her, his thoughts begin racing once more. Did she want comfort? Could he even comfort her? She had mentioned only being able to “go corporeal” if she concentrated, so would trying to comfort her make things worse? Her eyes were so sad, so lost, but with a layer of hope buried deep underneath. He realized that she must be still hurting under the mask that she presented to the world. He fumbled for the words to make things right, to bring that hope forward, but he found nothing. Grasping at air, he instead fell into what was comfortable for him. Working on an invention. A convenient excuse to break the tension that had somehow settled in the room between them. Tension and forces he could not explain drawing them together. If only there had been just a moment more.

He had a strange feeling that time was going to work against them tonight. If he’d had more time he might have figured out the words to lend her comfort. He might have asked the right question to keep the conversation going. Or maybe he would have allowed the moment to linger longer. He could have reached his hand out to comfort her when he couldn’t find the words. But instead something urgently pushed at him, reminding him that the events of this evening were working far too quickly for there to be too many stolen moments.

Time always had a way of recovering any moments stolen from it. H.G. was certain that this would be no exception.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic continues to take on a mind of it's own. I originally planned just to stick to the show then realized I needed to fill in the gap between the end and the epilogue. And thus, here we are.

_Is the Good Professor suggesting we have a séance?_

Of all of the numerous good ideas he’d had in his life, he wasn’t sure this would end up being one of them. Things seemed more complicated and confused now than they had before the mystical woman had arrived to bring back the ghosts of those murdered. And Lenore. Dearest Lenore. She hid her sadness under a layer of sharp witticisms and dark humor, but he could see the pain. The pain hiding just below the surface, and he knew that if she were to let down her guard, she would crack. Oh how he wished he could fix that. Make her smile or joke like she had in the attic. Instead, he had watched while her heart shattered once more, this time publicly in front of the remainder of their doomed party.

How he wished again that he could offer her some form of comfort. But to say that the entire experience had been unsettling would be an understatement. Unsettling…but yet at the same time, something to be studied. Learned from. There was so much about ghosts and the afterlife that went unanswered. So many questions that could only be answered by those who had passed forth into death’s embrace. So many questions and not enough time to answer them.

But the séance was over. The psychic, dead. She was yet another victim of the night that seemed to be stealing away every last one of them. He was close to a solution, something to help the killer be caught. Perhaps soon this would all be over. Maybe then he could sit down with Lenore and ask her the questions he now had burning in his mind, and to see if he could measure the frequencies and radiation caused by interacting with a being who had passed on. He just knew that there had to be new particles not yet studied by any living person surrounding her, since everything she did went against all research he had seen and completed. And perhaps, through his research and studies, get better acquainted with her and explore these growing feelings of…fondness? Perhaps something even deeper than that. Feelings weren’t his strong suit, after all.

Neither were jokes after his attempted jab at Hemingway’s writing. Yet Lenore seemed to enjoy it, so it was not all for naught.

_We’re running out of time  
Or are we?_

As someone who always felt like there was not enough time and who always felt as if time was running out, H.G. never paid too much attention to how others might feel about time. So when Miss Lee suggested that they were running out of time, it caused him to pause. Were they running out of time? Or was this just something his brain had fabricated yet again to fuel the almost insistent urgency he felt on a consistent basis.

When someone else announces what he’s been thinking all along, it makes his racing thoughts stop for a second to ponder how much time actually remains.

Moving back up to the attic to work with Lenore meant that he would hopefully be bringing an end to the senseless killings and perhaps bring peace to those who had already suffered. He felt he was nearly there. And of course, Lenore seemed genuinely interested in his work, even though she seemed to try to conceal her interest with sarcastic quips designed to divert the attention away from her interest in the subject. H.G. found the quality absolutely endearing, which was a perfect thing for his “dear Lenore.” Oh crumpets, had he said that out loud? It did not make it any less true, but he felt that he should be at least the smallest bit embarrassed that his thoughts had once again spewed forth without his consent. But the small quirk of a smile on her face washed away any hesitations or embarrassment and he launched himself into explaining his device to the woman in front of him. He found that when he explained his ideas to her, he felt almost empowered. Usually his ideas were, at best, regarded with skepticism, and at worse, outright laughed at. Yet Lenore seemed to listen and try to understand what was happening, in her own way of course.

And then finally, it was time. He handed the last bit of the device to Lenore to take up to the weather vane on the roof. At last there would be answers to this drastic night. Hopefully they weren’t out of time. A quick glance at his watch told him that they were, in fact, almost out of time. If the calculations he had quickly done in his head were correct, the next victim would leave this world any moment now. It had been far too long since the killer had claimed a victim. He had, at last, run out of time.

He of course did not realize that in this instance, he truly had run out of all of his time.

_It’s too late! The smoke…_

As a man of science, death of course had fascinated him. However, he hadn’t thought he would get to study it in such a close format for many, many years. Yet as his lungs burned and he felt the time he was supposed to have left slip away, he realized that he was going to get to study this aspect of human nature much sooner than he had initially anticipated.

He felt Lenore, dear sweet Lenore, gather his dying body in her lap. How he wished he had the time to say everything he wanted to say. His thoughts ran rampant through his mind and he found himself only able to tell her that it was too late. He hoped she would understand the meaning behind those words. It was too late for him to give her his thanks for being the first person in a very long time to genuinely take interest in his work. It was too late for him to coax a smile to her features so he could see her eyes light up with hope one last time. It was too late for him to express that had this night been different, had the events not transpired in such a way that maybe they could have explored more of what was between them. It was too late to tell her a simple “thank you” for caring to listen to his rambling, and too late to tell her that he was sorry to leave her so soon. Too late to tell her that he was sorry to be the second man to pass from this life without a way for her to follow. Instead he was able to croak out a response to her final question, telling her his name. There was no reason to be embarrassed by it anymore. He would soon be dead either way.

And then as he faintly heard her remark that it was indeed a “terrible name,” the darkness came across him and the sounds of the attic, the smoke, and Lenore faded away into nothingness.

And then time slipped away from him and he felt his consciousness somehow lift from his body, as if he were a ghostly form joining Lenore in her afterlife. But the world around him remained dark, as if he was trapped in a world that lacked all light. He called out into the void, but even then his voice seemed to be swallowed by the darkness as well. Was this all death would be? An endless dark void where he was doomed to sit for all eternity? Was he even sitting? He couldn’t tell as all feeling had seemed to vanish. He was fascinated by the sensation of not being completely deprived of all senses. He began making quick mental notes to himself, hoping that eventually he would be able to catalogue the experience in a more…scientific way.

He began to attempt to calculate the amount of time he had been here. It felt like only moments, but time seemed to move differently here. Maybe it had been hours, weeks, months. He had no way to really know. He couldn’t even tell if he still had a physical being, or if he was just a web of conscious thought. This was soon answered by feeling his body collapse beneath him and he found himself on the ground of wherever this place was. Sensations seemed to come back to him all at once and his eyes began to adjust to the world around him. Still dark and void of life, but he was able to make out a chair and some books. It seemed he had found himself in a study, not unlike the one at the house he had just left. He attempted to stand up, but found that his new form did not work like he assumed it would. Perhaps movement in the afterlife was different, and maybe, he thought to himself, that was why ghosts always seemed to be floating, almost gliding along when they walked.

Yet if he was a ghost, then surely he would have returned to the world he was familiar with and surely he would at least be able to recognize that.

He attempted to stand up again, this time attempting to will his body into doing what he wanted. It was an odd feeling, knowing that he had no functioning organs, muscles, or bones, but to know that he needed to make those things still move.

He was so preoccupied with this concept that he failed to notice the figure that had joined him in the semi-darkness. When he was finally able to make his semblance of a body obey what his mind wanted, he almost landed right back on the floor from shock when he realized he was no longer alone. His eyes focused on a face that seemed familiar yet at the same time, a stranger. And then all at once he realized whom he was in front of.

“Y-you’re…you’re Lenore’s fiancé…” He stuttered out, shocked.

“Yes. I was,” the figure answered wistfully. “And now,” he continued, “we need to talk. There’s work to be done, and not much time to do it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guy was super hard to write since we only get to see him for about 3 scenes total...so this was my attempt. I found that he's fun to write for...not NEARLY as fun as H.G. but then again, H.G. is my favorite.

H.G. stood still, shocked to be face-to-face with someone who was dear to someone who was so dear to him. It seemed that there would be much to converse about, and infinite time to do so. It was not lost on him that now that his time was no longer running out he felt that things felt much less urgent. He would be able to take his time to think things through and work out solutions to problems he had always deemed too frivolous for the limited amount of time he had. However, he now had yet another person telling him that time was still running out.

Apparently that was a concept that was going to plague him even in death where time should know no master.

“W-where are we?” he asked. “I know that we have obviously passed on into some form of the afterlife, but I thought that the afterlife would be more…bright. I-I’m not sure what I expected, really. After all, the afterlife is something that can only be studied by those who have already passed on and I was in the realm of the living only a short time ago and…”

“Not as short as you think,” Guy cut him off.

H.G. pulled out his watch by habit, but it seemed that the watch, or what was serving as the physical representation of his watch in the afterlife had stopped, the time showing the exact moment of his death, immortalized for all to see.

“Time moves differently here,” Guy continued. “What seems like only moments for you has been much longer for those who are still living. We have a lot of work to do, Mr. Wells, if we are to get you back.”

H.G. sputtered, his mind filled with thousands of questions, each one with two more that sprang from it. How much time _had_ passed? How did the other man know who he was? And how on earth…well, not earth since he still was unsure of what this place was but earth would work for now…would he get back when he was _dead?_ Especially since the one who brought back Lenore was now also dead.

“I know you must have many questions. Come, I’ll answer what I can along the way,” the other man gestured to him, and H.G. saw that a door had appeared, light softly glowing beyond it. It seemed that the only way he would get answers to the burning inquiries of his mind would be to follow this man and see what he wanted. He remembered earlier in the evening feeling as if he could be connected to this man and felt sympathy for his pain when Lenore had died. He somehow felt connected to him even though they had never met before. The string connecting them was that of one woman. Lenore. H.G. knew that Guy would do anything for Lenore. He knew he would as well. Perhaps they were more kindred than he initially thought.

_Time travel is real._

As they walked, he learned that much MUCH more time had passed than he had initially thought. While it had been just a few hours for him since his death, time on earth had passed into weeks since it had happened. He also learned that the world he found himself in was a between-worlds place. Neither afterlife nor living. Guy had found himself here after the failed séance, and now H.G. found himself in this boarder world as well. Guy had no explanation as to why they were stuck here. H.G. wondered if it had to do with the woman who had linked them together. Guy trapped due to a failed séance, H.G. trapped due to an unfinished experiment. Both leading to Lenore. Perhaps there was a way back. But even if there was, he wondered if he should work to send her fiancé back to her. It would make her smile again, even if the smile wasn’t for him…but she would know. Surely she would know that he had figured it out and done what he could from beyond the grave to make her happy. He would do anything to make her happy again.

He also learned that there was a way to take a small peak at the lives of the living, which was how Guy was able to recognize him. H.G. wondered what Guy thought of him. He was, after all, a man who had a distinct fondness for the other’s fiancée. In his defense, however, Guy was dead. Oh but that wasn’t a defense at all. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. Lenore was dead, and yet H.G. had allowed himself to be drawn to her, even as she still wore the wedding dress she died in.

“I don’t hate you.”

H.G. jumped, startled. There had been silence between the two of them since he had learned why Guy knew who he was. “I-I’m sorry. What?”

“I don’t hate you,” the other man repeated. “I know you were drawn to Lenore. She has a way of making you feel as if you are the most important person in the room, and she seems to have been able to help you focus on matters at hand.”

H.G. was taken aback by the blunt confession. “I must admit, I-I did think that perhaps you would be cross. She is, after all, your fiancée.”

“Was. Was my fiancée.” Guy stopped and looked at H.G. “I will always love the fair Lenore. My flower in the sun, my radiant beauty. But I fear that I lost my chance when I allowed myself to be overcome with the grief in her passing. Instead of listening to her family, I acted rashly. I took my own life without thinking that she could ever be returned to me. And then when she tried to bring me back, I found that I could not go back. I was too ashamed of what I had done, and I could not face her and see her devastation. So instead, I felt it best to let her move on. Let her find happiness.”

H.G. felt an overwhelming sense of compassion for the other man. How cruel it must feel to know that the one you love is hurting and that you are the reason for it. “You…you do realize, of course, that she still misses you. She still speaks of you with fondness. I daresay, with love, even.”

Guy smiled sadly. “Yes, but you have the chance to go back to her, and I believe she would welcome you back. I do not have that chance, nor would I want it. I would not want to cause her more pain than I already have. You, however, you bring her hope. You bring her happiness.”

H.G. stared at the ground, not having words to answer. He knew Lenore would never choose between the two of them. In fact, he was fairly certain that she would angrily explain that she wasn’t going to choose and that she was very…cross? No, that’s not a word she would use. She would use something more…archaic. Archaic but endearing. Either way she would tell them off and then storm off to bother Edgar. But perhaps if there was still a chance to bring her happiness. A chance to have her smile without the pain. That would make the pain he would feel worth it.

“I know you want her to be happy. Trust me when I say that I want the same. And trust me when I say that she never once looked at me the way she looks at you.”

H.G. looked up, embarrassed once more. He wondered exactly how much of the night Guy had observed. “Well then surely you…you must also know the sadness she felt upon losing you again.”

“A sadness that will only bring more to bear should I be the one to go back. Anything that remains of what was once ours will be clouded by guilt and doubt and shame. She was my sunshine in the summer, but you…you are her light after the storm.”

“How…how much of the night did you see? You see, I initially thought that you had only seen what transpired after the séance…but it seems that you must have seen more.”

Guy laughed. “I like to look in on Lenore from time to time. That ability isn’t only restricted to this in-between world we are in right now. I like to see if she’s happy, if she’s doing well. I want her to be happy. When I saw her with you, I finally felt at ease because I knew she could.” Guy sighed. “Come. We really don’t have much time. I feel that one other who had passed has already rejoined the living. If we are to send you back as well, the window will not be open for much longer. I believe there are some components that will interest your inquisitive mind.”

Time. Yet again time was working against him. H.G. felt the all-too-familiar anxious feeling creep in. If his time was indeed running out, then he was ready. He was, after all, always working as if he was running out of it. At least this time he would be prepared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wanted to get to the epilogue in this chapter...but then H.G. decided he needed to have some angst so then this happened instead.

Guy had been right. H.G. found many things that interested him in the room that Guy had lead him to. So many gadgets and so much technology, most of which he had only ever dreamed of. He wished he had the time to properly catalogue every single bit; however he still felt the keen sense of time running out. Guy had explained that Miss Lee had returned to the world of the living as a ghost, although he was not entirely sure how, what with the psychic being dead. H.G. had smiled at that revelation. At least Lenore would not be alone should this fail.

H.G. surprisingly did not find himself fearing its failure. He usually worked and fretted about, ensuring that every last detail was in line. While here he still worked on the details, he found that he was able to do so without the constant anxiety plaguing him. After all, if this failed the worst that would happen is that he would remain dead. And he was already dead.

And Lenore would move on. She would be happy again. And he would be able to watch from a distance, ever fated to be separated by the veil of death.

H.G. shook his head to push the thought away. He did not have time to think such things. His focus must remain on the task ahead.

He had begun to analyze his new ghostly form. He realized that he was somehow emitting new frequencies that he could have never achieved as a living person. He wondered if this was the missing link to his time travel problem and why his previous calculations had always ended in failure. Perhaps there was a key here to unlocking the pathway between dimensions. He worked feverishly, knowing that he needed to complete this soon if he wanted to get back to the realm of the living before he lost his chance.

He did not want to lose his chance again. He was sure that he would not receive another.

He glanced across the room at Guy, who had taken a seat and was reading a book he did not recognize. Some romantic poet or some sort. H.G felt his previous sadness for the man creep in, and wondered again if there would be a way to transport both of them back, if only to make Lenore happy. But the farther he worked, the more he realized that while his body was emitting the correct frequencies to make the journey, Guy’s did not seem to be doing so. He had to scan Guy’s body covertly, as he did not want the other man to know that he was still trying to find a way to bring them both back. He had made it abundantly clear that H.G. was the one to go back, not him. Yet H.G. did not want to accept that. Not yet.

Working on inventions again gave him a sense of comfort. Creating new things from nothing just to see how they worked always fascinated him. It gave him an avenue to allow his imagination to run wild and in those moments he felt most free. He remembered being a child and being sick and reading. All the reading about new and exciting things that inspired him to be able to do the same. Now as he worked on a new contraption to hopefully bring him back to Lenore he felt more calm than he had since his death.

The calculations would need to be absolutely perfect for this to work. He was unsure of how to test his current hypothesis. The only way to see if his new machine would work would be for him to try it himself. That of course, ran the risk of his never being able to return. But in all science and inventing there are calculated risks and variables. He had to ascertain whether these risks were worth it.

But when he remembered Lenore’s heartbroken voice as he had died in her arms, it was hard to logically weigh the perils of what he was going to attempt.

He found that when he worked on inventions his hands constructed things without him really realizing it. His brain would go into a sort of auto-pilot and he wouldn’t necessarily understand or know what he had created until it was finished. Inventing and creating always came easily to him. It was one of the rare times when his thoughts made sense and he was able to push that sometimes nervous energy towards something productive. Before meeting Lenore, he had found that this was his only escape from the constant jumble that was his never-ending thoughts. He took comfort in the familiar actions as he built different components and calculated the exact variable to make it connect with the previous one.

A thought in the back of his head distracted him briefly. He wondered what Lenore was doing, if she was smiling again yet, and if maybe she missed him. His hands stilled for a moment, his constant moving and creating lost as he remembered her eyes, her face, and the way she had spoken to him. She had teased him, of course, but she had taken a genuine interest in him, a concept that still seemed foreign to him.

Guy had told him there was a way to look in on those still living, but he hadn’t told him how. He wondered if he had time to do just that, or if it was still running out.

Time was always running out. He laughed to himself, but not the kind of laugh where you find something funny. It was more of a short laugh of disbelief, because even in death he still didn’t have enough time to do everything he desired.

Guy looked up at him when he heard the laugh. H.G. shook his head and busied himself with his work, knowing that the other man would simply tell him that they did not have time to spare. He shouldn’t even bother asking. It was a silly idea anywa…

“Do you want to know how she’s doing?” Guy interrupted his thoughts.

“I-I…well, I just wondered, that is to say…I realized I did not know how to see her. You spoke of knowing who…who I am and that you knew of how she was doing…h-however you did not tell me quite…how you achieved that. I…I just wanted to make sure she was…happy.”

Guy smiled sadly. “It’s something that’s come with practice for me. I’m not sure I could teach you in the short time we have. Rest assured, she is doing just fine right now. In fact, I believe she is giving what she is calling “Ghosting 101” to Miss Lee.”

H.G. smiled at this. Of course Lenore was teaching Miss Lee how to be a ghost. It was a very… Lenore… thing to do. She had seemed so lonely with her only constant company being Edgar. “I…I suppose I should be focusing on the task at hand instead of delaying any further. I believe I have reached a small breakthrough.” Guy raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to continue. “My body is emitting certain frequencies that did not seem to exist before and that should not be possible. Apparently through death I will be able to create and do what I could not do in life,” H.G. explained, speaking quickly but without stumbling. “If my current calculations are correct, then I should be able to return to the living world,” he paused and looked at Guy. “I…I did however notice that you, Mr. De Vere, are not emitting them. I…I am not sure if the device will work on you. I still wanted to try…e-even if it meant the smallest chance that you could also return….”

Guy nodded. “I said before that it was you who must return. I do appreciate the effort you have gone to, but you…you were the first person I have seen bring light back to her eyes. You are the only one I trust to keep it there.”

“Well…then I…I believe I am ready to try,” H.G. said more to himself than to Guy.

Guy stood up. “Then I believe our time has come to a close, Mr. Wells. I do sincerely hope that you are successful.” He extended his hand, which H.G. took and shook. “When…when you see Lenore…can you tell her something for me?”

“Y-yes of course,” H.G answered nervously.

“Tell her…tell her that she looked more than ‘fab’ in her dress. That she was the most beautiful person I had ever seen, and that I want her to be happy. Tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t come back when she called for me, but that I hope that sending you back gives her a chance at the happiness I stole from her when I tried to follow her into death.”

“I…I think I can do that. T-there’s just one thing. What…what do you mean by ‘fab’?”

Guy laughed. “I never really knew what she meant by it. But she’ll understand.”

H.G. nodded and then hesitated. He still wished he could bring back Guy with him…still wanting to do the right thing, the noble thing, even if it meant his own suffering. Guy gestured towards the contraption that had been built, indicating that time was still running out.

H.G. stepped into his invention and nervously sighed. This was the moment. He would know if his calculations were correct or if he had doomed himself to eternity in death. There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the buttons, and closed his eyes as the entire thing became engulfed in smoke.

He did not see the small waive from the man who had given him his chance to return to his…their…dear Lenore. He did not see the man slowly fade away, finally passing back beyond death. His time was finally up.

Time had run out for both of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I live in a house full of nerds!"  
> "It's kinda great."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, as promised, the epilogue. And at last we come to our conclusion (unless someone really wants me to continue this, but I feel like I'm leaving our dear characters in a good place). Thank you all who have taken time to read this and comment. It means the world to me!

Returning was easier than he had anticipated.

Mere seconds after he had disappeared from the in-between world, he appeared back in the study at Edgar Allan Poe’s house. As the smoke cleared he wondered if he had arrived at the right time…after all, time travel had added variables and if he miscalculated he ran the risk of causing quite the paradox. Paradoxes were something to write about and something to study, but he feared that if he were to find himself in the middle of one the damage would be irreversible.

Or perhaps he would end up too late, and he would have been gone for far too long. Lenore would have surely moved on, and if she was not there then he had no way to track her. He was sure that in a world where things moved in a much more linear fashion that “looking in” on other souls would not work as it had in the other world.

These and many other scenarios flashed through his head, his mind slipping back into its tendency to think through many different scenarios at once. Analyzing and over-analyzing every small variable and every fear he possessed as he always found himself doing, but this time they all centered on one specific thing. One specific person.

In a span of these seconds, the smoke cleared and he heard a voice he had been entirely sure he would never hear again. A voice that had sounded so broken the last time he had heard it. But this time…this time the voice carried hope, and happiness, and a level of disbelief that he found increasingly satisfying. In that moment he felt, for perhaps the first time in his life, powerful. He had created many things in the course of his life, but creating this moment, this happiness, would forever be something that he treasured.

The happiness he saw in front of him was only matched, and perhaps surpassed, by his own.

As he explained what he had accomplished, he also realized he had the chance to take in the woman in front of him. Before, when they had frantically been searching for clues and a way to end the horrible night they had found themselves ensnared in, he only had brief moments to truly appreciate her. Now he realized that he had all the time in the world to do so. Finally his obsession with time could be an innocent one, no longer plagued by thoughts of it running out far too soon. Now with this new life… afterlife… it was odd to be part of the afterlife while life still moved around him…he could now spend the time he had not be given before.

As a man who had devoted much of his life to the study of time, to come to find that it was now in infinite supply was something he realized was outside of his comprehension. This new sensation of not feeling the constant rush of time was something he would have to become accustomed to. All in good time, of course.

_I live in a house full of nerds.  
It’s kinda great._

He knew that Lenore’s sarcasm and eye rolling was only to cover the fact that in actuality, she enjoyed this. In his excitement to be back, he had not anticipated Miss Lee also being present. He supposed it made sense, considering that she and Lenore were close. He had, however, hoped that his reunion with Lenore would be more…private. Instead he had once again become too engrossed in his explanation of the science and calculations he had conducted and bumbled his way through the rest of the conversation when Miss Lee had asked if she could practice her haunting on him.

Of course, there was the promise of more calculations and variables and other as-of-yet unstudied phenomenon within that, so he was, of course, intrigued.

Edgar had heard the commotion in his study and ran in frantically, and then stopped when he saw H.G. standing there. Before he could get more than a “Hello H.G….H? What are we calling him…” Miss Lee had ushered him out of the room, announcing that she wanted to go for a walk since the weather was “ever so nice.” Lenore had shot her a thankful glance as Edgar was hastily shoved out of the room.

It was not lost on H.G. that the last time he had been in the same room with Lenore that he had died, quite literally, in her arms. He remembered the heartbreak in her voice as he had slipped away and wished there was something he could do to remove that memory from their lives forever. He could only hope that their future and the infinite amount of time they now had could work to erase a fraction of that pain.

Infinite amount of time. He had scarcely stopped to contemplate that concept until this moment. He had died, yet here he was, existing in the world of the living, now outside of the cruel touch of time’s passing. The constant pressure to be ahead of whatever pressing deadline time had created for him had finally lifted. He was free from the grasp of time, and the feeling both thrilled and terrified him. Having all of the time in the world, so to speak, was a daunting prospect.

He had realized he had been silent since Edgar and Miss Lee had left. He also was conscious of the smile that still graced his face, and the small sarcastic smirk that graced Lenore’s. How he could get lost in her…smile? Eyes? For all of his mocking of romantic poets he now wished he had at least taken some time to study their works so that he might be able to accurately describe the woman standing in front of him. Instead his brain grasped for words to describe her in the context in which he saw her.

“So we’re going to what…stand here and stare at each other?”

Lenore’s words broke his concentration and he found himself stumbling through his words once more, as he had when he had first arrived at the ill-fated party.

“N-no. I thought that…perhaps we could…that is to say, that maybe, if you were willing, we c-could go somewhere and…well, maybe if you wanted, and if you do not want to then we can do something el..”

With a frustrated but amused eye roll, Lenore moved forward and grasped his tie and pulled his lips to hers. His eyes widened in shock, not expecting such a bold gesture. But soon, he relaxed into the kiss and his hands moved to her waist and pulled her close to him. When the kiss finally broke, they stood with their foreheads pressed against each other, both taking in and being thankful for the moment that had finally brought them back together.

(He would, of course, need to research that later since he knew she could concentrate and become corporeal but he wasn’t sure he had mastered that…perhaps it was different when the things in question were two ghosts? More research and analysis would be needed. And if that came in the form of more moments like this one, he would not be one to complain.)

“A-actually, I do believe your plan is…well…quite superior to mine.”

Lenore smirked at him. “I thought you might say that, Goggles.”


End file.
